


Simulated Camera

by browneyedraven



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Petyr Baelish - Freeform, Smut, Sugardaddy, petyr/sansa - Freeform, professor/student, student, teacher, webcam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-08-10 09:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20133508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/browneyedraven/pseuds/browneyedraven
Summary: "But Marge, I don't know if I'm very comfortable witht his. I mean, what if someone recognizes me?" Sansa reasoneded, trying to back out of her dare.With a roll of her eyes, Margaery placed her hand on Sansa's shoulder, "No one will recognize you; no one even goes on here but me, silly," she reasoned.With a huff and a shrug of her shoulders, Sansa hit 'Go', and put on her best smile.--------------Or the one where Sansa Stark has just turned 18, the legal age in America to present her naked body online to anonymous men, one of which is an unsuspecting high school professor who can't seem to get her out of his head.





	1. The Birthday Challenge

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first fic and I hope that you all like it. Bear with me, as I am learning how to use this site. I apologize for any mistakes (similarly, my 'e' key is sticky and can result in extra 'e's and words that just don't make too much sense, but I'm hoping I'll fix any and all problems before uploading). Please leave m a comment or kudos to let me know how you enjoy this, thanks!

"Shh; shut up! We don't want her to hear us!"

"Stop giggling you idiot; you're going to wake her!"

"Hush, watch your mouth. Be kind, Arya."

The whispers, which weren't quite whispers at all, startled Sansa from her deep sleep. Lifting her head from her pillow, Sansa stared at her bedroom door in confusion. _What in the seven hells is going on? _

"Okay, quietly, someoene open the door and we can wake her together." 

Watching her bedroom door knob turn warned Sansa to close her eyes and roll over once more, pretending to continue her slumber for the sake of her family. She heard the creak of the door, and sets of footsteps lead toward her bedside, before the warm, boney hand of her mother shook her 'awake'. She mumbled (for effect) before turning over to see her siblings and parent decked out in birthday gear, a cake and breakfast in their hands. 

"Surprise! Happy Birthday!", they cheered together, forcing a smile out of the newly-legal girl. 

"Thank you guys, really," she spoke to them.

Sansa's mother, Cat, placed her daughter's breakfast on her bedside table before sitting on the edge of her bed. She smiled kindly, and cupped Sansa's face. "You're so grown up. I'm so _old..._" she broke off. Her crystal blue eyes blinked and slowly began filling with water as she teared up thinking of how quickly the years seemed to fly by. "Mother...", Sansa began. "Please don't cry." She nervously chuckled, hoping to ease her mother's pain. "I'm not, I'm not," Cat began. "I'm just remembering your young, sweet self, that's all. Happy birthday, dear." 

A loud and obnoxious car horn startled the family from their peace, and Sansa laughed. "That must be Margaery. Thank you all for the beautiful breakfast, I'll put it in the fridge and eat it later," Sansa spoke to her family, before rising from her comfortable position on her bed, and heading towards her closet to get ready for the day ahead of her. 

"Dear, you should eat some of it, at least...", her mother began, before being cut off abruptly by Bran's words. "At least, a little, except for the bacon, of course. You can thank Arya for that bit." Arya gasped and smacked Bran across the back of the head, and let out a huff before explaining that she didn't mean to burn the meat. Sansa let out a muted chuckle before ushering her mother and siblings out of her room so that she could change.  


She decided on a simple blue shirt paired with burgundy leggings, showing off her Father's colors. She paused, thinking about her Father, Ned, and wished that he were there to see her on her birthday. She hoped that he could at least watch her on her special day. 

Another annoyingly long honk broke Sansa from her train of thought, and she threw her shoes on and hurried down the stairs and out the front door, yelling her goodbyes to here family. Margaery sat in her buggy, smiling out to Sansa. Sansa threw the door open to a screaming Margaery. "Happy birthday, girl!" She yelled, pulling Sansa in for a hug. "Thank you, thank you. It means a lot to be spending it with you, bestie," Sansa returned to her brunette friend. The girls talked on about how they might spend their day as Margaery drove them to the diner down the street. 

After ordering their food, Margaery spent a long time looking at Sansa, her brown eyes rested upon Sansa's blue ones. "So," Margaery began, "what are we doing in specific to celebrate your birthday, chickadee?" 

Sansa chuckled, "Well, I am spending lunch with you, silly. I thought you said you might have something in mind?"

Margaery rolled her eyes. "Well, yes, of course I have small things planned here and there. But you're _eighteen_, now, Sansa. You're legal. You need to celebrate the _right_ way". 

Sansa squinted for a moment. "Like, what? Go to a stripclub? You know I can't do that."

Margaery let out a snort. "That's not quite what I meant. I mean, if that's what you want, I'll try my hardest to convince you, and besides it might be fun. But maybe something a little less... traumatizing. How about a tattoo?"

It was Sansa's turn to laugh. "Yeah, as if my mother would let me do that. I may be eighteen now but I'm still living under her roof. I'd like to keep a place to sleep, if you don't mind."

Margaery huffed. "Well, okay. No stripclub. No tattoo. A piercing? Maybe? I mean you're still too young to legally drink. Let me think." Margaery ran her slender fingers through her hair as she pondered ideas that would help Sansa celebrate; things that would define her as a legal teen. Her eyes suddenly opened wide with a gasp. "I've got it. But you need to trust me."

Sansa squinted at her friend. "What do you mean, _trust you? _I mean, of course I trust you Marge... but what are you thinking?"

Marge smiled a toothy grin, and Sansa knew that her question would be left unanswered. "Telling you would ruin the surprise, silly girl!" Marge laughed. 

When the girls finished their food, they climbed back into Margaery's yellow buggy and headed off to her house, where they began their celebration with a boozy movie night. Nearing the end of their second movie, Marge hopped off the couch and headed up her stairs to her bedroom, telling Sansa to stay put, before running down the stairs with her laptop in tow, and a smirk on her face. 

"Get reeady, Sansa," Marge began, "because this is the beginning of the new chapter of your life." Marge sat beside Sansa, opening her laptop and pulling up an internet browser before typing in a website that was out of Sansa's view. She giggled. "Okay, let's see. New account. Age; eighteen. Sex; female. Let me just add a picture... beautiful. It's all set up now." She turned the screen to Sansa, revealing a website full of naked men and women, each separated by different boxes with different titles. Sansa's eyebrows shot up. "Porn?", she half-yelled. Marge laughed. "Yes, but not something you'd see on your ordinary pornography sites. These are webcams. You start a show, peoplee watch. You can even make money if you connect your information. Let's start one", Margaery explained, clicking on 'Begin Show'. 

"Marge... _I don't know if this is a good idea..."_ Sansa began. 

"Sans... it's okay. Truly. I would never put you in danger. No one will know it's us if we don't show our face. Your username is LittleBird. No one even knows that it's you. Besides- we don't even have to get naked. Guys would love to just see your body, clothes on and everything".

"But... I feel _dirty"_, Sansa revealed, blushing a dark shade of red. 

Margaery giggled but held onto her friend. "Don't worry, I was nervous my first time too. It'll go perfectly, I promise. If you don't like it, we can stop." 

Sansa gasped. "You mean, you've done this before?" She asked, astounded from her friend's confession. 

Margaery laughed, "Surprise! Yes, I have an account as well. That's why I've been able to pay for those new clothes lately. Are you ready? Here we go." Margaery clicked the final button before the green flash of her laptop's webcam signaled that the video was airing. Quickly, more and more anonymous people began to join the show, commenting on the girls' 'beautiful lips' and 'slender bodies'. 

_Sansa hoped in that moment that her father could not in fact see her on this day. _

It surprised the red-haired teen how much she enjoyed the attention from the strangers. The two girls spent the remained of their night on the webcam site, before hitting the sheets late in the night. 


	2. Across the Screen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa found the stranger to be unusually kind, yet just as sensual as others. He did, however, run a thin line as of how creepy his comments regarding her body could be. She wasn't sure how he managed, but something about him turned her on beyond any extent. Meanwhile, Petyr sat red-faced on his bed, his emotions a pool of shame, desire, and adoration for the pale red-head on his computer screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again... my 'e' key is stuck. I'm getting it fixed soon. I will try to be mindful of my mistakes but please bear with me if I've missed some!

\- With Sansa -

Sansa stomped up the wooden stairs leading to her front porch, the creaking and squealing barely noticiable to her. She loved her job; really she did. She couldn't think of a better scenario than to be paid to smell the aroma off darkroast coffees in a mellow, little cafe, with christmas lights decorating the walls and small chatter blending in the background. She enjoyed it beyond comprehension, but she almsot wished it could always be so simple there, and that she didn't have to deal with angry customers. Just today, an older woman, who could not have been past the ripe age of 6o, and whose smile seemed to brighten the room (that is, before she opened her mouth), brought Sansa's confidence level down in the blink of an eye, smashing it to smithereens. Really, it wasn't Sansa's fault that the woman's coffee was prepared incorrectly, as it's Sansa's job to merely take the order and pass it accordingly, and the mistake occured during the actual process of making it; something that Sansa just can't control on a busy Sunday afternoon. Yet Sansa stood there apolegetically, taking everey insult that the woman had to offer her. It really did take almost every part of Sansa's being for her to not break down in front of the nasty woman, and she figures it will take just as much for her to keep her cool in front of her mother. 

When Sansa made it through her front door, she immdeiately booked it to the stairs, and was nearly half way to her bedroom when she heard her mother call from down below. 

"Sansa, dear? Is that you?", Catelyn's graceful voice carried through the open house. "I'll have dinner ready in a few. I want you in bed early tonight, now that break's over and you'ree back to school tomorrow!"

Sansa had barely reached out for the knob of her door before letting out an exhausted huff. While dinner sounded (and smelled, for that matter) lovely to the girl, rest sounded all the more lovelier. "I'm not hungry, mother," she called back, continuing her entrance. 

"Sansa? Is something the matter?", Cat's voice echoed back.

Sansa hesitated. She usually told her mother of her long work days and Cat heeld onto every word of her's, but she really _really _did not feel up for a conversation. "No, mom. Everything is great. I'm just super exhausted, is all. Plus, they were selling lemon cakes at work today. You know my appetite's been ruined."

The teen was relieved to hear a chuckle from her mother before fully stepping into here bedroom and securing the door behind her. She swiftly undressed from her work clothes, throwing on a nightgown and her favorite, most comfortable slippers for the cold night. She just about threw herself into bed when a particularly shiny glimpse of silver caught her eye. On her desk laid her laptop. Sansa's brian was quickly rushed by the memories of mere nights before, the adventures and laughs that her and Marge witnessed on the item; such naughty things the girls did for strangers. Her breath hitched, and she impulsively made here way to her desk before sitting comfortably in her chair, and opening the device. She had not touched it since leaving Marge's, and, just as she expected, she was welcomed by a vulgar cam-girl homepage, a perfect image of herself in that exact moment displayed on the screen. 

As if on queue, she adjusted the camera angle to let it rest where her mouth and below were in perfect view, sheathing her eyes from any recognizability, and hit 'Begin'. Within no time at all, Sansa watched her view count blow up (_pathetic, really; all she was showing was her lips and very little cleavage. Men really are dogs)_. She watched comment after comment pop up on her screen, man after man asking her to pout, to stick a finger in between her volumous lips, to press her shoulders togethere so that they could see edown her laced top. It made her laugh really, seeing them at their lowest lows, and so all Sansa could muster to do was smile. 

Until, the notification of a tip chimed through her ears, and Sansa watched as her live video earned her one hundred dollars, thanks to one man. Confusion settled on the girl's face. _Was this a whole new form of lowest lows? These men have nothing better to do than send barely legal teens their dirty money? _Not that she was complaining in the slightest, but still confused the least. "**CockingBird478 ****has tipped you!" **her computer read. "**Do you wish to thank your tipster?**"

Sansa accepted it without having much knowledge on what she accepted. Quickly, a new tab opened, and a conversation room appeared, with two video screens this time. Sansa could see herself, along with a mysterious man, dressed in a t-shirt and an old pair of worn boxers, his eyes, similar to hers, covered. His wicked grin, however, not so much. The man gave Sansa a smirk, one that she could almost believe to be genuine, and a small wave, before typing away in the chatbox. 

**Hello, sweetling. I'm very grateful that you've accepted to chat with me here. You look lovely tonight. Blue lace very much suits you. **

Sansa could do nothing more than stare at his message, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. "This is weird. I shouldn't be doing this," she lets out, ashamed of her actions. Shee reached to stop the conversation when she sees the man smile quickly, his shoulders shaking, revealing that he has let out a laugh. Hee quickly reached for his computer to typ again.

**I'm sorry if I've startled you, sweetling. I will leave you alone if you'd like. I just find you fascinating. And your voice-- it's just too sweet.**

Sansa sat there stunned. Had he heard her? Why couldn't she hear him? She noticed the option in the far right corner of her screen to mute her microphone and wasted no time in clicking it. _I musn't let anyone hear me. Someone might find out who I am. _She reached forward to reply to the man. 

**No, I'm sorry. I'm not very used to this type of thing. I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do. **

She clicked send, watching the man as he ran his calloused fingers over his scruffy beard, before hastily replying to her. 

**Sweetling, you're supposed to do whatever you'd like. It's a private conversation. No one here but you and me. If you have trouble thinking of something, my dear, we can just chat. I don't mind having a conversation with an intelligent-looking young woman such as yourself. **

The man leaned back, admiring the not-so-subtle blush that appeared on Sansa's cheeks. She nodded, giving the okay to the man to begin with his questions, which were unusually less vulgar than what she imagined he could have come up with. He even went on to ask her what her favorite color was, telling her that his own was a dark and cloudy forest green. They chatted endlessly, speaking of favorites and nonfavorites; of the weather where they were and their winter breaks; even of their birthdays (the man noted that he watched the live of Sansa and her friend on her eighteenth birthday, and wished a happy belated to her). They chatted until Sansa looked over her shoulder at the time, gasping, and berating herself for not noticing the hour sooner. She reached out to write her last message. 

**Sir, it's really very late here. I have classes tomorrow to attend. I really did enjoy our conversation here tonight, and I would love to chat again sometime soon... if you'd like?**

The man on the other side of the screen smirked at her as he did in the beginning of the couple's conversation and nodded thoroughly. 

**Of course, sweetling. I look forward to speaking again. **

With that, Sansa smiled softly and waved to him, which he returned, before closing the conversation and her computer, shutting off the light, and heading to bed. 

\- With Petyr -

Petyr was almost glad that the mysterious, young girl had decided to call their conversation to a close, as he was finding it more and more difficult to hide his persistant hard-on from the innocent doll. He glanced to check the time himself, cursing, because _damn _it really was late. He, as a professor of a high-end university, had his own classes to attend to. He figured that helping himself to climax didn't seem like a bad idea, though, and surely it would help him fall asleeep quicker. So he did. Petyr speent nearly thirty minutes tugging on himself, a mysterious, rede-headed nymph on his mind all the while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi HI HIIII!!! I know that I'm suoer duper late on this update but please understand that college came up and hit me like a wall! My workload is insane this semestere but I will try to be better about posting when I can. Thank you for all the love and support, please let me know what you think!


	3. Class Dismissed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ew, Marge. He's a teacher. I mean, okay, yeah, he's kinda cute but the fact that he's a professor just makes him less attractive," she spilled out. 
> 
> "I don't think so. It makes him look professional. I'd totally fuck him", Marge answered. 
> 
> With a roll of her eyes, Sansa looked at Marge. "You'd fuck anyone."

\- WIth Sansa-

Sansa wasn't much of an early person, and that fact definitely did not change for her first day back on campus after break. It seemed that she complained mostly during break about how bored she was getting of doing nothing the entire time, but she wished now that she could take all of her complaints back and hide them away. She really _really _did not want to go back. 

An obnoxiously loud car horn brought Sansa from her thoughts. She rose from her desk, finished packing here backpack, and headed downstairs. 

"Sansa, dear, you haveen't eaten breakfast yet," her mother called out as she began to open the front door. "At least take some to go," she finished, handing her daughter a croissant wrapped in a paper towel. "I packede extra for Margaery," she told Sansa, bringing her in for a hug. "Remember I won't be home for a while tonight; you're on babysitting duty!" she called out as Sansa left the hous with a huff. She didn't understand the point of being on 'babysitting duty' for her younger sister Arya when it seemede that thee girl was more than capable of taking care of herself. Noneetheless, Sansa made a mental note of being home on time, because while Arya didn't need her, the young tattle-tale would be sure to tell mother if she were late. 

Sansa smiled to Marge as she sat in her car, inhaling and letting out a gasp as music filled here ears. "You got a radio system!", she announced, gawking at the brunette. Marge matched her expression. "I know! Isn't it nice?", she asked, awaiting Sansa's reaction. "Well, yeah, it's really nice, but..." Sansa began, trailing off. Marge sent Sansa a side-glance as she began to pull out of the girl's driveway and head down the street. "But?"

Sansa hesitated, looking out the window. "No, no. It's really nice. It just looks... _expensive_, is all", Sansa mentioned, under her breath. She knew that Marge's grandparents had a lot of money, but she didn't think they'd be able to afford to give their granddaughter such an expensive Christmas present. 

Marge threw her head back in laughter, quickly returning her eyes to the road. "I'll take that as a complement. I bet you think I got the money from my Grandmother, but really, it's a collective sum of the money I've been tipped", Marge explained. 

Sansa's eyebrows raised. "Tipped?", she questioned. She hadn't known Marge to have a job, nonetheless one as a waitress. 

Marge turned to her for a second, and smirked. "Yes, tipped. You know, on the website? As a cam-girl?"

Sansa's eyes grew wide. "You got that much money from being _tipped_?"

"Well, it wasn't just one person, and it wan't just one tip. I get them from at least a hundred guys over the course of a month or so. You must not know what I'm talking about."

Sansa rolled her eyes. She loved Marge, but they both knew that deep down inside she was a total slut for rich guys. "Please. I know what a tip is; I got one just last night," she explained, remembering her conversation with the mysterey man. She was yanked from her thoughts when Marge reached out an arm to slap her shoulder. 

"Sans! You went back online? I didn't think you had it in you! How much did he tip, then? Mine usually tip between thirty to fourty dollars, but that's when I keep things relatively... _clean_, if you know what I mean," she whispered. 

"What? He tipped one hundred."

"No he didn't. Really? Did you have your tits out?"

"Marge!"

"Well, did you? You had to have at least remembered his name for the future, or friended him or something? You don't want to lose him, you could have a radio set like mine!"

Sansa rolled her eyes again, for most likely the third time during the whole conversation with her friend. "Marge, I don't even have a car."

As the girls pulled up to the school, Marge let out a chuckle. "Not yet, but with him, you may soon," she said, parking her buggy and cutting off the music. 

As Sansa greeted Marge goodbye to head for her first class, she thought about the mysterey man. _I really hope he doesn't feel the need to pay me all that money, I'm not looking for a sugar daddy or anything. _But that thought made Sansa pause. What exactly was she looking for on that crudee website at all?

Sansa's first and last class of the day were her Creativ Writing class. Mornings were lectures and explanations of the weekly projects the students were to finish, and the afternoons were spent on writing and any one-on-one questions with the professor. The workload seemed to be obnoxiously heavy, but Sansa was relatively excited for the class. Plus, Marge had mentioned something about a new professor, but the name had slipped her mind. Entering the class room, she picked a seat in the middle; not too close to the front, as she didn't want to seem like a nerd, yet not too close to the back, as she still wanted to pay attention to the teacher and the material. Upon sitting, Sansa set her bag on the ground by her feet, and looked ahead at the chalkboard, reading the name written across of it. _Professor B. _She wonderede what the professor's last name actually was; would it be too difficult for her to pronounce? Sansa checkede the time; class was set to start in less than a minute. _Where is the professor? _

As if to answer her question, a middle-aged man entered the classroom, shutting the door behind him. He walked to the teacher's desk, setting his shoulder bag and coffee mug on it, before heading to stand in the front of the classroom, with his arms crossed over his chest. Sansa scrunched her eyebrows out his outfit; he wore a striped button-down shirt that seemed to be nearly covered in wrinkles, tucked into a pair of khaki pants. He wore a patterned tie that matched his socks, and expensive looking black dress shoes. His face was decorated with a smug grin as his eyes searched the class room, trying to take note of each of his students, before his eyes rested upon Sansa's own. She watched as his tongue separated his lips as he clapped his hands together, signaling to the class that it was time to begin. 

Sansa found it difficult to pay attention to the words that left the man's mouth, except that his last namee was in fact Baelish, but he did not mind that the class called him by his first name, Petyr. Something about him feeling that thee students should understand that he is like a friend, and is merely there to guide them through the semester. "Ms. Stark, is it?"

Sansa's eyes widened as she met hers with her professor's. He was wearing that same smug grin. "Do you mind repeating to me what I've just told the class about the project we'll be working on today?" He waited a few seconds, watching Sansa stutter over her words, their eyes stuck in a silent stare. "Hmm," he mumbled, letting out a chuckle, before turning back to the board. "I understand that it's the first day of class, but let's try and pay attention, please." 

When class ended, Sansa packed her things quickly and left as fast as she could, a dark shade of pink laced on her cheeks. _How embarassing. _She met up with Marge for her next classes, both extremely boring as expected, before the two girls headed to lunch. 

The girls sat, eating their foods, speaking of Sansa's encounter with Professor Baelish earlier that morning. "Marge, you don't understand, it was so embarassing. Not only did the class witness th whole thing, but it was just... he was right. I was totally zoned-out and he knew it", Sansa cried out, spooning more soup into her mouth. 

"Sorry Sans. Professor Baelish, the new guy, right? Word around school is that he's really hot."

Sansa almost choked on her food hearing those words. "Ew, Marge. He's a teacher. I mean, okay, yeah, he's kinda cute but the fact that he's a professor just makes him less attractive," she spilled out. 

"I don't think so. It makes him look professional. I'd totally fuck him", Marge answered. 

With a roll of her eyes, Sansa looked at Marge. "You'd fuck anyone."

Margaery laughed. "No, not anyone, and especially not Jofferey. Look."

The two girls turned their heads to Jofferey's table, where he sat surrounded by some of the most popular students on the campus.

"Well," Sansa started, "I hope no one fucks that scum", she said, laughing.

As the girls finished their meal and the bell for the last class-- the longest class-- rang, Sansa nearly felt lightheaded thinking about having to face Professor Baelish a seecond time during the day, following her embarassing episode that morning. "See ya, Sans!", Marge called out, heading to her own class. Sansa raised herself from the table to throw her garbage out, and when she turned, she bumped into something hard. "Oh, sorry--", she began, stopping to look at the wall she bodyslammed.

"You should be sorry, traitor," a nasal voice let out. None other than Jofferey stood before her, his garbage in his hands. Traitor was nickname that Jofferey 'gifted' her when her family stopped their subscirption to the Lanister's television service, once it had gotten too expensive. Since then, it had stuck. 

"I'm less sorry now," Sansa returned, raising her eyebrow to the boy.

"Oh?" he said, raising his garbage above the girls head. "That's just too bad." With a twist of his wrist, the boy sent his leftover soup flying down onto Sansa's red hair, and down her clothes. 

Sansa let out a squeal, and immediately booked it to the bathroom, leaving Jofferey laughing in the cafeteria. 

After cleaning herself up, Sansa headed to her classroom. She knocked on the door, cursing herself. Her arrival was far past late, and when the door opened, Sansa was greeted by a disgruntled Professor Baelish. 

"Hmm," he started. "You're really not having a good day today, are you? I bet you don't even know what the project is on, do you?"

Sansa merely stared at him, at a loss for words for what seemed like the second time today. 

"Very well. Have a seat. I'll be right over in a second."

Sansa headed to the only available seat, in the front row closest to the professor's desk. She placed her belongings on the floor by her feet, and waited for the professor's arrival. 

A few minutes later, she heard a chair scoot beside her, and could smell the potent scent of peppermint, before Professor Baelish's eyes came into view. "Okay. Since it's the first day, we're working on some pretty small things. Today's assignment is to write an introduction about yourself, from the point of view of another person. It shouldn't include anything too personal, just what's viewable from other people beside yourself, and it shouldn't be in the point of view of a friend, but a stranger. For instance, if you were writing in the point of view of myself, you could talk about the lack of punctuality and consciousness," he explained, pursing his lips together. "I won't put you through too much of a hassle as it's the first day, but please try and be more mindful of my class, sweetling", Professor Baelish, let out, raising from his spot next to the girl. 

_Had he said sweetling? _Sansa wished she could have heard that pet name for the first time, but she knew she had heard it recently before. She just couldn't quite place where. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I can't really let you know when I'll post anymore, just when I have time. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, let me know in the comments!


	4. Eye Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa smiled almost evilly, knowing that no person witnessing the show seemed to know here identity, before she peeled her tight shirt from her body, revealing her perky tits, her nipples hardening at the contact of the cool air. In no time, her computer began to chime with tip after tip; these dirty men were losing their minds, before a particularly high tip caught her eye. Cockingbird478 has tipped you 200 dollars! Almost immediately, Sansa clicked the link to open a new tab with the mysterious man.

On their drive home from school, Sansa found herself sitting in silence listening to Marge go on and on about their math professor, Dr. Snow, and how she wished to be close enough to him to run her fingers through his "smooth, black locks"-- words that Marge used herself, leading Sansa to chuckle under her breath. Sansa found it hard to picture being attracted, at least sexually, to any of her professors, especially Professor Baelish, smug grin and all. She wanted nothing more than to smack it off his face when she returned from washing meat chunks from her hair in the girls' room. _Would he still have been such a dick about me being late if he had known what had happened? _Sansa needed not to think about it for long, remembering the enjoyment she witnessed in his eyes as he teased her about it. _Probably. _

"Sans? Are you even listening to me?", Marge asked as the girls pulled into Sansa's driveway. 

"Yeah, yeah, Marge. Something about his eyes, right?" Sansa guessed, remembering the fascination the brunette held with the teacher's grey eyes, and how she speculated that they were so dark they could be black. 

"Oh, good, yes. You were. They're just... a storm. Two little storms of color in his beautiful face."

Sansa rolled her eyes at the girl. "Okay, Marge, just make sure that your infatuation with his eyes stays at his eyes. Please. For the love of the seven gods," Sansa prayed, most literally. She knew of her best friend to be a true slut, especially with authoritative figures, and she really didn't need her best bud suspended or expelled.

"I'll try," Marge laughed out. "Now git, you're already a little late. We don't want snitchy to have a conniption," Marge whispered, changing the subject and shooing the red-head out of her car. "I'll see you tomorrow. Text me if you're going online!" 

* * *

'Babysitting' Arya was a stupid and unnecessary job, Sansa believed, but it was definitely one of the easiest ones. All the girl had to do was give the young girl access to the television and the refrigerator, and have pizza on the way, and then she's in the safe, tell-mom-everything-went-smooth zone. She could spend the whole night in her room and win the babysitting game. Sansa began some of her homework to pass the time, easily knocking out her math and science studies, before reaching her creative writing assignment. She cleared her mind, opened a new Google Doc, and hovered her fingers above the keyboard, unsure of what to type. _Damn, I can't even think of a fucking title. _Sansa couldn't help but feel tempted to open another cam girl session, her mystery tipper hot on her mind. _No, I should really finish my homework first. _

Sansa found herself procrastinating beyond end, with finally a title written, before deciding she needed a break. She opened a new browser on her computer, and had to type only the first letter of the cam-girl site before the rest of it popped up in her recommendations. _Great, it knows. _She positioned her camera so that he nose and below were visible, showing off her floral shirt. She wondered for a moment if she should change her clothes, but decided that the chances of running into someone that had seen her at the university that day were very slim, before hitting 'Begin'. 

Similar to the nights before, more than several men began to join the show, begging her to act sexually for their own desires. She smiled at some of their comments; others she made a disgusted face, scrunching her nose, before reporting their profile. All the while, she kept her eyes out for a certain profile, but to no avail. The comments from the hungry men seemed to become more and more desperate, and Sansa started to agree herself that, _maybe it was beginning to become a little hot in here_. 

Sansa smiled almost evilly, knowing that no person witnessing the show seemed to know here identity, before she peeled her tight shirt from her body, revealing her perky tits, her nipples hardening at the contact of the cool air. _Guess I don't have to worry about anyone recognizing my long-gone shirt anymore. _In no time, her computer began to chime with tip after tip; _these dirty men were losing their minds_, before a particularly high tip caught her eye. **Cockingbird478 has tipped you 200 dollars! **Almost immediately, Sansa clicked the link to open a new tab with the mysterious man. 

The same conversation screen popped up as the night before, and the man sat, lounging in what seemed to be a bed, wearing a grey t-shirt and a pair of joggers. He smiled sweetly, using his tongue to wet his lips, before typing away.

**Hello, sweetling, you're looking more beautiful than ever. Not just because of this special show. How was your day?**

Sansa blushed, the pet name, matched with his attractive features, causing her to become flustered. _He knows my tits are out and he says I'm beautiful either way. _

**I'm doing well, thank you. Just working on some homework, I seem to be stuck.**

The man paused for a moment, running his fingers through his scruffy facial hair. 

**Homework, eh? I've never done my homework naked.**

Sansa giggled, covering her tits for a moment before replying.

**I can put them away, if you'd like?**

The mysterious man wasted no time in replying.

**Please, sweetling, leave them out if you'd like. I really don't mind. **

Sansa blushed harder, though she was unsure if it was possible. She pondered what she should answer back. The man noticed her struggle, and reached forward to type again.

**Well, let's see sweetling. What kind of homework is it? Perhaps I might be able to help you, darling. **

Sansa explained her assignment to the man, trying to remember every detail that her professor had told her. 

**I know it seems so very simple, but I'm just not the best at writing. At least not about myself. Do you have any advice?**

The stranger did not reply for an exceedingly long time. In fact, his hands did not even move toward his keyboard. He seemed to be staring straight ahead at his computer, his lip tucked tightly between his teeth. Sansa was confused at first, before telling herself that perhaps he is thinking of his own way to attack the prompt. Her thought was cut short and the man's hand reached for the screen of his computer, raising slightly, so that his whole face was in view. 

Sansa audibly gasped, unbeknownst to him, for she stared directly at the worried face of Professor Baelish. 


	5. Threat of Detention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clearing his mind was easier in theory. Every second of the class, Petyr seemed to glance in the direction of her seat, wishing to see her there. She wasn't. She didn't even come in late. Petyr was upset, but mostly frustrated. She can't ditch my class forever.

Sansa woke up the next morning with a headache; her eyes crusty and her nose dry, a feeling she remembered dearly after her father's death. _Had she been crying? _Fora small while, she lay struggling to remember the events of the night before, when they hit her suddenly like a train. _Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no. _She remembered his face, full of worry, yet his eyes held a gleam of curiosity and wonder. _He had seen me. _But worse, _he had sent me money. _She almost laughed at him, a college professor watching younger women play online, _paying _for women online, when she figured, quite frankly, he could probably manage to get women with his looks. But Sansa wasn't hardly worried about his reputation while her own was predominantly on the line. While what she did was not illegal, being caught like that was a big, big problem. Especially being caught by her own professor. 

_Oh, seven gods, I have his fucking class. _Not once a day-- no, that would make things a little bit more bearable. But twice; Sansa had to not only sit through Professor Baelish's morning lecture but through his afternoon section as well. How did she feel about that? _Peachy. Just fucking peachy. _

Getting ready for school seemed to fly by for the teen; she was on the verge of crying almost every time she thought about the night before. She heard Marge's car horn, signaling to her to get her ass downstairs and out the door before the girl threw another car horn in her direction. Her mother called out to her as Sansa walked out the front door, but she was in no state to even recognize the words leaving her mouth. Sansa was too focused on clearing her head and wiping her eyes-- she couldn't let Marge know what happened last night, Marge would either tear her one or encourage her to do things she didn't even want to think about. 

Sansa opened the car door, throwing her bag into the back, and buckling up, while Marge finished her text. The two sat in silence for a long period of time before Sansa spoke up, checking the clock. _It'd be bad to get to his class late, above everything else. _"Marge?", Sansa asked, hoping to catch the teens attention. Marge let out a soft hum, as if to show Sansa that she heard her, but was too busy in her conversation to pay attention. "Come on, we're going to be late," Sansa prodded, hoping Marge would put her phone down and start driving. 

"Seven gods, Sansa," Marge let out, rolling her head back. "Since when were you so concerned about making it to class on time?" She asked, finally looking into Sansa's eyes, picking up on their bloodshot color. "Christ, are you fucking high?" 

Sansa stared back at Marge, astonished. "Are you kidding me? You know I'm not like that. What is your problem this morning?" Sansa shot back, too exhausted and frustrated to let anything go.

Marge paused for a moment, thinking about her next words, before muttering a whatever and throwing her phone down into the console. The car ride was silent, not even the music played. Sansa played with her fingers as she thought about how class might turn out for her. Her stomach tightened, and she felt for a second that she might throw up then and there in Marge's car, but the feeling passed as quickly as it started. When the girls pulled into the school parking lot, Marge shut the car off and beelined it towards the school, avoiding Sansa at all costs, not even sparing a goodbye. Sansa sighed, but knew that by lunch, at the latest, Marge would be herself again, and maybe she would apologize, and maybe things would be okay. 

But now Sansa found herself walking to her creative writing class. She was early. She didn't want to go. She didn't want to go. _I don't want to go. _Sansa reached the classroom door, twisting the knob and opening it to reveal an empty classroom, with the exception of the professor in the front. Professor Baelish stood at the front of the classroom, writing questions on the board, and Sansa stood in the doorway, watching him. He had heard the door open, and was expecting footsteps and movement, and when he hadn't heard them, he knew too well who stood there. He remembered revealing himself, searching her face for a reaction; and while he thought it would be rather difficult with her eyes hidden, there was no doubt in his mind that what was etched on the girl's face was nothing less of panic. He wanted dearly to comfort her, to turn his microphone on and tell her that it would be okay, that what they were doing was perfectly legal, though if it were carried on in the classroom it most certainly wouldn't be. But before he had the option to do any of that, Sansa covered her mouth, evidence of tears of embarrassment trickling down her cheeks, before she closed the tab, leaving Petyr staring at a blank screen. 

Petyr wanted now to pull Sansa into the classroom and hold her in a tight hug; he could hardly imagine what was racing through her mind. But when he turned to look at the girl, who spared him but minute of clear eye contact, she turned abruptly the opposite direction and headed back into the hallway, his eyes trained on her all the while. He sighed, turning back around to write the questions on the board. _She'll be back. She might be late, but she'll be back. _

To Petyr's utter disappointment, she wasn't back. He waited patiently to see her face among the crowd of students that entered his classroom, perched on his desk, but to no avail. He felt a pang in his chest as he called attendance, hoping that she had slipped in unbeknownst to him, but she hadn't. He hurt for her, but he had a class to teach, and he needed to get her off his mind. 

Clearing his mind was easier in theory. Every second of the class, Petyr seemed to glance in the direction of her seat, wishing to see her there. She wasn't. She didn't even come in late. Petyr was upset, but mostly frustrated. _She can't ditch my class forever. _

Meanwhile, Sansa sat in the girls' room, thinking of her options. It's too late in the week for the girl to want to drop her classes without penalty, and she didn't want to do that to her clean record. _But what would going to his class do to my record? What would seeing him last night, flashing my tits, him sending me money... what would it do? _She had Beene lost in panic all day, and soon saw that her first class was beyond over, and that she was already missing her math class with Marge and Mr. Pretty Hair. _Fuck it. Fuck all of it. _Sansa rose from her spot on the toilet before exiting the bathroom. She planned on walking home. She hoped she could leave without running into anyone she knew. 

Unfortunately, things don't always go as planned. When Sansa rounded the corner of the hallway, she smacked-- hard-- into someone. She immediately let out a string of apologies and moved around the person, not daring to look into their eyes, before a hand reached out to grab her wrist. "Ms. Stark...", his raggedy voice let out. Sansa didn't even have to look, she didn't want to look. She knew who held a tight grip on her. The hand on her wrist raised to her shoulder, pulling the girl to stand in front of him. Petyr looked down, trying to hold eye contact with the girl, but she wouldn't give. "Ms. Stark, you missed my class this morning," was all Petyr could say, at least in a school setting. Sansa still hadn't looked into his eyes. He needed to see her again. "I hope to see you in my class this afternoon. We will be covering important things that I wouldn't want you to miss, okay?", Petyr asked, hoping to get a reaction, but nothing happened. "Sansa?", Petyr asked. The use of her first name startled her, and Sansa looked up into his eyes, her own becoming pearly and wet. Seeing her on the verge of tears caused Petyr to scrunch his eyebrows in worry, and he nearly reached a hand for her cheek before Sansa spun around quickly, letting out an "okay", before walking away from her professor. Petyr watched her as she walked down the entire hallway and around the corner, before heading to his own classroom, wondering what this afternoon's class would have in store. 

Sansa didn't go to class. She didn't go to lunch with Marge, who still hadn't text her, and Sansa still didn't care. Marge was obviously going through her own things and didn't need Sansa's help. It didn't even hurt. _Not at all. _But now that lunch had ended, Professor Baelish's class was beginning, and Sansa couldn't begin to head in that direction. She seemed stuck in her place outside of the university, leaning against its walls. She knew that she couldn't avoid Professor Baelish forever, but she hoped that she could for a bit longer. 

A bit longer turned into ten more minutes, which turned into _okay, I'll just go to class tomorrow_. Sansa sat outside the university, waiting for Marge to send her the okay to head to her buggy, but it never came. Out of confusion, the girl dialed Marge's number and held her phone to her face, before being sent to voicemail almost immediately. She cursed, and looked up just in time to see Marge's car pulling out of the parking lot, with the teen's hand out the window, her middle finger clearly raised. Sansa stood, watching as Marge's finger and car got smaller and smaller before it disappeared down the street. She huffed. _Guess I'm walking now. _Sansa began to head out to the parking lot, but heard her name from behind her. She turned, and met eyes with not only Professor Baelish, but the Dean of Students, Dr. Tyrian Lannister. _Fuck. _

* * *

Sansa had followed the two men to Dr. Lannister's office, where she sat next to her professor, facing the dean. _Fuck, had he slipped? Had he told the Dean? Seven hells, the Dean knows about my tits? _So many thoughts raced through Sansa's mind, before Tyrian opened his mouth to speak.

"Ms. Stark, it's my understanding that you were at school today, but ditched both of your classes with Professor Baelish, and your other one's as well? Do you care to explain?", Dr. Lannister asked, crossing his arms over his small chest.

Sansa stared straight ahead, silently, not staring at anything in particular. She looked past the Dean as he asked his next question. 

"We do not tolerate students that do not come to class just because they do not want to. Professor Baelish has explained to me his worry about you missing his classes; you and I both know that a class that you have twice a day is not an easy work load. Thus, missing the class will not be very helpful to you. Nonetheless, attendance is required. Are you asking for your grade to go down, Ms. Stark?", Dr. Lannister asked, raising his voice. 

Still, Sansa did not answer. She listened, in shock of everything. 

"If I might, Tyrian. Ms. Stark, please," Professor Baelish began, turning to his student. "I do not wish to cause you any stress or harm, I am just bringing to your attention how serious this issue can become. If you would like, I can catch you up on what you missed today, and we can pretend this little meeting never happened; as long. as you continue to show up to class, of course," he added, glancing at the Dean. 

Dr. Lannister nodded in approval before adding to the conversation. "No authoritative figure ever enjoys giving detention to their best students, which you are, Ms. Stark, but we will if we must. Please follow Professor Baelish to his classroom so that he might catch you up on your studies, and please _please _plan on going to class tomorrow. _On time,_" he concluded, ushering the two out of his office before shutting the door behind him. 

Sansa clutched her bag as if she would fall over before following her professor silently to his classroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, 
> 
> This chapter is longer but I needed a good ending so I've posted half. I'll be posting the end of it soon when I finish! As always please leave any and all feedback, I love reading your comments!


	6. A Conversation Worth Remembering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa took some time to get her breathing under control; she could feel a rush of something else this time-- not adrenaline. More like hormones.

Sansa wished for nothing more than to be home right now. She wished that she had never, ever created that stupid cam-girl account, that Marge had never introduced her to that lifestyle. She knew that becoming an adult meant taking responsibility for her actions but she hadn't once dreamed that she would be taking responsibility under such circumstances. 

The walk to Professor Baelish's room was silent, with the exception of his scuffling feet and her small ones softly echoing behind. She wondered that if she made her footsteps quiet enough she could spin around and wander out the front door without being noticed, but soon realized it was too late for her to run when the two reached his classroom door. 

Her professor opened the door and turned to her expectantly, moving his arm forward to motion her entry. She couldn't look at him; she wouldn't dare make eye contact. Lord knows she wouldn't be able to block out the memory of his worried expression, nor would he be able to block that of her perky breasts. _Gross. _She didn't even want to think about it, shaking her head as she walked through the doorway, heading for her normal seat (not that it mattered anyway, just an old habit of hers). She set her bag down and sat as gracefully as she could, trying her hardest to keep her eyes off of him as he shut the door and waltzed over to her. Not a word was spoken, and no sound was made but the screeching of the desk chair's legs as Petyr slid it closer to her. Not too close of course, her could already tell the poor girl was nervous. She was visibly shaking; sweat seemed to drip from her neck, and her face was nearly the shade of her fiery hair-- though he wasn't sure whether it was colored that way out of embarrassment or frustration. He sat down ahead of her, one leg on each side of the chair, and rested elbows on the edge, his head on his hands. And he just looked at her. He looked at her eyes, though hers did not reciprocate, and waited. For a glance? A word? He wasn't sure. He wanted to say so much, but he wanted her to initiate it. Somehow, though not without reason, he knew he would have to be the first one to speak, so he did. 

"Sansa," was all he could get out before the girl that sit before him crumbled like a dry, autumn leaf, and began sobbing. Nothing cute about it. She nearly hollered, her palms glued to her face, wiping her tears as quick as they came. Petyr watched in shock, unsure of what his next moves should have been. Sansa muttered and blabbered works, or so Petyr thought, while they were rather incoherent. Lots of "please" and "I'm so sorry", and his favorite (one he was sure he heard but under different circumstances would never have imagined Sansa, of all people, to say), "_I didn't mean to show you my boobs"_. Boobs. Such a childish word. It would have made Petyr laugh, but given the setting, he figured it wasn't his best move. 

Petyr quickly rose from his seated position on the desk chair and kneeled by Sansa's side, bringing the girl into a warm embrace. He twiddled the end of her braid in his fingers, rubbing her back with his other hand, before telling the girl, as gently as he could, "please Sansa, don't be sorry. You've done nothing wrong; absolutely nothing wrong at all, sweetling." 

It took some time, but Sansa's fast breaths began to slow, and the heat that radiated off her began to dim. Petyr pulled back, keeping his hands on the girl's shoulders. "Honestly, dear," he whispered. "Missing my class is nothing to get so worked up over."

_ Okay, yeah, maybe Petyr knew he had heard her correctly about the night before, but he wanted to see if she'd _ _actually bring it up again. _

Petyr's reassurance caused the girl to pause for a longer time than she had intended. Her wet, bloodshot eyes finally stared deeply into his. "Professor Baelish...," she whimpered. 

"Please, sweetling. Call me Petyr," he interrupted. 

"Petyr...," Sansa started, searching for her words. "It was you, wasn't it?"

Petyr was unsure how to answer her question; he knew what she meant and what she was referring to, but he couldn't bring himself to let her off that easily. "I'm sorry? What was me?" he asked, his smug grin making an appearance.

Sansa sat quietly, her eyes never leaving his. _It was him, wasn't it? _Sure, she hadn't gotten to know the man very well, but she would recognize his face if she saw it, right? 

Petyr let a chuckle out this time before leaning close into Sansa, his chin resting on her shoulder. His lips tickled her ear as he whispered to her. "You mean last night, little bird? When you revealed yourself to the despicable men in that group chat? Or when you revealed yourself to me?"

He turned his head so that his lips brushed against her neck, taking note of the lemon scent of her shampoo. He paused for a moment to see if she'd answer, but when it seemed that she wouldn't, he continued. "I think I might remember that, sweetling. You make it quite difficult to forget."

Sansa hated it, but her face reddened, remembering how dirty she had felt, half-naked for her mysterious man. While she wanted to tell herself that she disliked the lack of space she was given from Petyr, she would be lying. A wet feeling startled her, but when she realized it was her professor's tongue, peeping out from behind his lips and tracing along her neck, she voluntarily leaned in to him.

This earned a groan of satisfaction from Petyr, for he knew that his actions could have held a variety of very different consequences, but he was so grateful that Sansa seemed to want this. His tongue was followed by his lips, before Petyr began sucking on the girl's neck (he was trying to find that one place that would make her moan); his hands sliding down her arms and onto her lower back. His lips connected with her lower jaw, and Sansa let out an undeniably loud moan, quickly bringing her hand up to cover her mouth-- though while in a school setting, Petyr would have none of Sansa silencing herself. He nipped at her, forcing the girl to hold her mouth tightly, only allowing a few whimpers peppered here and there to slip. 

The two sat in a peculiar position, Sansa still sitting at her desk with her professor crouched beside her, when a rush of adrenaline ran through the girl's veins. She promptly stood, backing herself away quickly before leaning on a near desk. Petyr's eyes followed her, undressing her as she reached out of hand, before standing himself. He combed a hand through his scruff, and backed himself to lean on his desk. Sansa still held her hand to her mouth, in shock of what she had just experienced. She wasn't upset, nor hurt. The complete opposite, really. Sansa was more than excited; she could feel it dripping between her legs, but she would consider herself a silly schoolgirl if she left him find out. 

It was silent for a long time, with the exception of ragged breaths. Finally Petyr spoke up. 

"Sansa, I'm so sorry. I took things too far. I was just so... excited.. after last night's show...," he explained, in the best and most clean way that he could. 

Sansa took some time to get her breathing under control; she could feel a rush of something else this time-- not adrenaline. More like hormones. 

She quickly walked over to Petyr, leaning up against him. She closed her eyes, putting her lips on his, and directing his hand to her cunt. He accepted (of course, though perhaps more quickly than he should have), and the girl moaned in his mouth as he groped through her jeans. He felt through the damp material to find her clit, and once discovered, he focused his hand on it. Sansa was seeing stars; she was sure the two looked ridiculous as she hardened her kisses and began rubbing herself on Petyr, his hand reaching the most pleasurable places (his other grasping the desk for dear life so as not to fall). Her breathing quickened; she released sharp and loud chirps into Petyr's neck as he encouraged her. "Yes, sweetling. Let me hear you, good girl. Are you going to cum for me, sweetheart?"

Sansa's drool ran down Petyr's neck and shirt, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. "Please, sir. Please," was all she could muster. 

Petyr's pace quickened on her clit, sliding his other hand up to hold her hips in place. (While he thoroughly enjoyed her riding his fingers, her moans were already giving him the most painful hard-on he's ever experienced. He really did not feel up to cumming in his trousers). "Go on, sweetling. Cum in my hand. Let me feel that wet, little cunt," he rasped out. 

Sansa squeezed her thighs together, quickly, trapping Petyr's hand, before letting out the highest squeal the man had heard. She squirmed in his hands, riding out her orgasm, before falling limp against him. Petyr, though he didn't think it would be possible at first, could feel her cum drench her bottoms. He brought his fingers to his face, smelling her, sighing. 

When Sansa had finally properly came to, Petyr had turned her so that she sat in his lap, his hands resting on her thighs. 

"Now, sweetling. Let's discuss what you missed in class." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there's that. A reminder that my e key is stuck still! (Not that you need a reminder, my poor spelling will do fine enough). As always, leave feedback! I love reading it (:


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